The One with the Something to Say

Faith might mean there won’t be answers and home might mean enduring through the night but help me not forget in darkness the things that I believed in light. 

– Something to Say, Starfield

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The One with the Power Sprayer

Last night I asked my mom to wake me up early so I can exercise. I woke up at 6 am grab a basketball and start shooting hoops. 

After 20 minutes. I gave up kasi madulas yung court puno ng lumot dahil di na nagagamit these past months. 

Instead na mag basketball nagdilig nalang ako ng mga halaman.

Lumabas ako ng hapon para mag basketball sana but I found my dad cleaning the court with a power sprayer. He asked me to shovel some mini canals for the water to drain and sweep as he goes on spraying the cement with pressurized water.

It was messy and in the process I got messy too. Sprayed on with moss, mud and everything in between.

We were trying to clean layers and layers of grime from the floor of the courts. I almost forgot the color of the cement underneath. 

In the middle of it all I saw my dad determined to clean the court. Maybe because he doesn’t want me to slip when playing basketball or maybe just so I wouldn’t have a reason not to work out. Either way he went the extra mile to clean the basketball court when he could just go on sa pagdidilig ng nga halaman nya. 

My dad is a farmer, not afraid to get his hands dirty. He is also a mechanic, not afraid to get grease on his hand. He’s not afraid of the mess. Even if sometimes that mess includes me. He is a farmer and he cultivates me. 

Thank you daddy, for I know that I have someone in my corner willing to scrape off layers of grime with me and doesn’t mind being messy in the process. 

The One with the PremiereĀ 

This afternoon our short film, Kaloy-I was  shown in the big screen for Mindanao Film Festival 2017.

Grabe iba pa rin pala talaga pag sa sinehan parang nakaka add sa pagiging legit and the whole time nasa isip ko. Grabe! If I would have listen to the voice in my head two years ago, the voice that whispers:  coward, failure and weak I wouldn’t be able to whisper back today: thank you, grace, joy.

As I stare at the screen and marvel at our hardwork. I saw God’s faithfulness and redeeming love. I saw promises fulfilled and I saw hope. I saw new beginnings and I finally have a glimpse of what I want to be. I also saw na mali yung font size na ginamit ko sa subtitle.

The One with Ctrl + S

So, I forgot to save the file I was working on this afternoon. It’s a web design for our 1st exam on interactive media. Just when you thought thay years of lay-out and editing would make me learn my lesson of pressing ctrl + s as you go along. 
Phlegmatic that I am I didn’t mind losing the file. First, the deadline’s on friday and I still have a lot of time to make  a new one and second, Kuya Aron Wright is…right. “you always build it better the second time around”.
Ctrl + S.
Saving.
The idea of pressing ctrl + s as you go along with your work is done with the purpose  of retrieval: to reclaim or redeem something in case it get lost.
I can’t help but think of my need to be redeemed, reclaimed and retrieved every single day of my life. 
It easy to forget. 
When life goes on its course and you are forced to run along with it. It’s easy to rush into the race and forget a lot of things. Its easy to get lost in the middle of it all. 
I worked on my exam today to save time. How often do I rush to finish something quickly so I can move on to other tasks. How often do I jump from one project to another and making sure I get to finish it earliest as possible thinking it would save me time and energy. 
I make an effort to save time, energy and money but often times forget the important hings that need a lot of ctrl + s.
I can’t help but think of my need to be redeemed, reclaimed and retrieved every single day of my life. 
It easy to forget.

The One with the Unwritten Quote

Words. What’s more–in evidence of the Divine–we string those symbols together and then write them down, where they take on a life of their own and breathe outside of us. Story is the bandage of the broken. Sutures of the shattered. The tappestry upon which we write our lives. Upon which we lay the bodies of our dying and the about-to-come-to-life. And if it’s honest, true, hind nothing, revealing all, then it is a raging river and those who ride it find they have something to give–that they are not yet empty. 

– Unwritten, Charles Martin